a dream of becoming

Spirit, i will be itinerant.
i was in my own mind
drawn to the perfect and sublime,

feet bare,
trudging between towns
apocalyptic threads of mind
numbing my wounds, numbing my audience, my parishioners,
(only my whispers)
for my throat welded shut
with threads of god-knows-what.

so,
i dwelt
driven mad in the making 
of my own guilt, i worked hard
until i couldn’t sow. 
with blisters and blood, down for the count

love she wrapped me,
not in plastic or trappings of
gold and silver like the limericks 
around me, i  gasped and grasped 
for her astounding touch,

she wound me up
bound me and made me face me
the man i couldn’t be and the me i'm becoming.
oh, so sacred, so profane, so astounding, the make-up, the plague,
the surrounding light, was all i could take
to keep the burden from bounding down upon the lame, the forsaken,
and i was astounded, even my love leaks out poison, and i am
only afraid of me without her now
i'm nothing but a spun web, strands of vanity,
it’s her name and her foundation
and her venerate momentum
that unwound me
and made me
the nothing
i’d always
wished 
i could 
become.